The Dark Chronicles of Harry Potter
by Digital Darknezz
Summary: I'M BAAACK!!! they tried to destroy me but they couldn't succeed! The story's back!!hooray!:)) ok. enter Harry Potter - the coldblooded killer, the Heir, the seducer...
1. Default Chapter

Ladies and Gentlemen: TATA!!! I'M BAAAAACK!!!!! THE STORY'S BACK!!!! Ummm….i missed something?

Chapter one. Broken

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Inc. I don't own Linkin Park lirycs. Don't sue:)

Mental note one: It's NOT my fault, that Cedric Diggory died! Not my fucking fault!

Mental note two: don't argue with Uncle Vernon. I don't want another broken jaw, hell no.

Harry Potter, one of the most famous wizards, the Boy-Who-Lived, the survivor of the killing curse, was sitting in a cold, dark, little room. Locked. The central heating, by a strange occasion, didn't work in his room, leaving him frozen to the bone and miserable. Even a thin woolen blanket, in which he wrapped himself, didn't work. It was a cold, rainy summer, a summer which looked more like a fall. And it was cold and chilly, not the right place for the future saviour of the nation…The atmosphere, the weather, the locked gloomy room – everything pressed on him, leaving Harry with himself, with his thoughts and feelings, which he didn't want to understand. But still…he couldn't escape them. No way.

Inside his head. 

"No. I can't. I had enough of it. Stop. Stop. Stop!  I don't want to hear anymore of this shit! Look, in what condition I am! I'm beaten, broken, thrown away!"

"Yes you are. You've been fucked up for two months! Your arms have been broken two times each, your jaw snapped like carton under Vernon's fist and oh, did I mention your cracked ribs? And, on top of it all, he shoved a kitchen knife through your guts! How'd you like it, eh?"

Harry winced at the memory. Uncle Vernon. He got fired during Harry's fourth year, and started drinking heavily. All his anger and bad temper was carried out on the poor boy, leaving him beaten and hungry each evening. Throught the day Harry did house-work without rest, as if some ugly parody of  Cinderella. His hands, when not in plaster, had been red and swollen from hard work. But that wasn't the worst thing. The worst thing was food. Or, the lack of it. Harry starved. His daily menu consisted of two thin slices of bread and watery cabbage soup, surely far not enough for a fast-growing teenager. During the chilly nights, when he lay crumpled up in his bed, covered with bloodstains, he dreamed of food. Of meat. Of something, that would stop the sucking empty feeling in his stomach…

Harry WAS abused. In the evenings, drunk Vernon would come from another bar meeting, and the fun would start. He asked himself: why don't I defend myself? Why? Why am I lying here, unable to move from pain, blurry visions instead of normal sight, and again and again his fist comes crushing down on my head, knocking the shit out if me!? 

Dudley participated too. He didn't change a bit since Harry saw him last time, and he remained the same fat, coward, monsterous ball of dough. When Vernon beat Harry, Dudley would stand aside, and only when his father had finished, he kicked motionless, harmless boy  hard in his stomach and sometimes in the shin. 

"I'm tortured. I'm nothing. I'm a rag doll. Even less."

In his first day, Uncle took his wand and hid it somewhere. No more magic. The only thing, which still belonged to him was Hedwig. Poor bird. She suffered too, locked like him in little cage with no keys…

"You need to end this."

"Yeah, I know…but how? He has the power, not me. Look, what I am!" 

He stood up, legs shaking from weakness and starvation. He walked slowly to a big mirror, which was placed on a night table. Harry looked at his reflection, the hated image which was haunting him all these days. Today, he looked even worse than when he got out of hospital, a week ago.

His always bright green eyes now seemed bleached and dull. This were the eyes of an animal, which got in a trap and knows, that the only thing that awaits it, is a hunter's gun.

They looked hoplessly upon the world and pain reflected in their depths…Big, blackish-purple circles under his eyes, scraps and bloodstains on his ash-colored cheekbones, where the skin never had the time to heal itself. His face now resembled a skull, because the skin wrapped itself so tightly around his bones, demonstrating them to the world. Harry's raven black hair have grown longer, but where as messy as ever and now they weren't bright, no, instead they were covered with dust. His frame and skin color, the whole appearance in Dudley's old shirt and jeans made him look like a victim of Holokost. Harry pulled up the shirt to reveal sticking out ribs and a long, ugly stitch on his belly…The post-operational scar from the knife. He remembered that significant night. Oh, yes… 

Harry was washing the dishes, as usual, when he heard Vernon stumbling into the house. He knew he was barely concious from the alchohol, so as not to draw attention to his person he just stood near the sink, keeping his eyes low. He heard Vernon roar on Petunia: "Stupid bitch, get your hands off me". The next moment his uncle came staggering into the kitchen, breathing heavily. Harry did not turn his gaze from the sink. Don't look back. Don't turn around…

- BOY!

Harry turned and looked at Vernon. His meaty face was red and sweatened, his fierce and insane stare penetrated him. He was at the edge. A condensed cloud of whiskey hang around him. The next thing that Harry remembers, is his uncle's twisted smile, when the cool, hard blade like a silver lightning comes cutting his flesh. Harry stupidly looked at the wooden handle of the knife, sticking right out of him. The blood trickled out if the wound, dirtying the shirt. "This can't be happening. Not to me…" Blood was coming up to his throat, threatening to suffocate him. Harry's thoughts become slow and lazy. His vision clouds. Next  fragment – he falls to the cool floor, and the terrible pain starts tearing him from the inside, like someone made a bonefire in his guts. "Oh God, dear God, please no, NO NO NO! I don't want to die!". Hard to breathe. Too much blood, his blood. " Oh please help me, someone, please stop the pain, there is so much PAIN!!!". The last thing he sees is Vernon's and Petunia's terrified faces. Black out…

Vernon, luckily, realized, WHAT he did, and if the boy died, he would get in jail. Drunk, he though, took bleeding, unconcious Harry in the nearest hospital, just in time to save him. Harry got severe internal injuries, and the operation lasted for two hours. The explanation was that Harry had been carving out of wood and accidentaly cut himself. Of course, it was a lame explanation and the doctors didn't believe it a bit, but when Harry had finally gained conciosness and the surgeon asked him about it, one fierce uncle's stare said enough. Harry confirmed it his fault. The hospital staff let go off his case and after five days Harry returned to his prison cell…

But the straw that broke his back became his birthday. He hadn't got a single gift or a letter. Like he dissapeared from others people lives. Everyone forgot him. Why? Not a note. They supposed to be his friends, didn't they? Long, lonely nights he silently cried about it, but there was no-one to comfort him. Why did they abandon me?

" They didn't need you, Harry. They didn't need your personality, your soul. You where only a star, and your so-called 'friends' only wanted to get their part of the light. Get it? You were just an idol, a cult. People were your friends because of your fame, money, popularity. Not because of yourself. They wanted fame, so to say: " I'm friends with the famous Harry Potter! Am I cool!!". They wanted to get influence, power, participation in some miracle. They see you as a savior, They would send you to hell, saying how much they love you. You're just as Malfoy. And when an idol falls, it is abandoned. You are doomed to it. Nobody needs your feelings, your inside. You're not a human to them. A hero. A shield for their little miserable lives. Nobody needs plain Harry Potter. Everyone needs The Defeater of Voldemort. Last year you sucked. They threw you away. That's all. You don't have REAL friends…"

Yeah. Ron and Hermione, two grey mice, wanted to be seen, to use him in their ways. To be famous. The whole Gryffindor admired Harry for being something that he wasn't. They all can go to hell. Dumbledore wanted to make Harry his weapon against Voldemort, playing on the death of his parents. "For this, he placed me here, so I could suffer from the Dursleys and hate Voldemort even more. So I could be an obedient puppet on a string. He knows that I'm abused. That motherfucker knows, that sly old fox. He wants to make a weapon out of my pain and angst, but I uncovered his evil plan. I won't be a puppet. From this day, I will do only what I think is the right thing. Go to hell!" They betrayed him…He won't forget, how they left him…

Harry took out from under his pillow Dudley's old CD player and put the phones in his ears. He lay back, giving himself to the music…

"Where should I start

Disjointed heart

I've got no commitment to my own flesh and blood I…

Left all alone

Far from my home,

No one to hear me, to heal my ill heart, I…

Keep it locked up, inside…

Cannot express

To the point I've regressed…

If anger's s gift, then I guess I've been blessed, I…

Keep it locked up, inside

Keep my distance from your lies…

"I've had enough. I have to stop it. I'll cut the strings. I have no fear." As Harry listened and thought, he could feel the anger swelling inside his soul, growing, putting aside his indifference and apathy for his fate. It gave him strength, the will to do something to stop this abuse. Hatred and violence started burning like wildfire, sweeping aside all other emotions. He remembered, that  in the end of his last year he learned a bit of wandless magic. There was a hope. 

"But I need pain to keep my feelings in control." He thought. Harry pulled out of his pocket a razorblade. 

" Breaking a part of my heart to find release

Taking you out of my blood to bring me peace…"

He brought the thin steel blade to his wrist, watching as the pale skin and flesh beneath it diverges. He watched in fascination, as the red metallic liquid abundantly flowed out of his sliced wrist, so rich and warm. The sharp pain, that will follow him all his life…The pain that he controls. His life that he controls…and nobody else.

"Someone has to pay for all this. Someone will pay. I will have my bittersweet revenge for my broken life, body and mind. They all will pay…Very soon".

And then, wincing from pain, watching his blood he smiled. A smile that would've done Voldemort proud…

A\N: ufffffffff…I started it! I'm making this a non-typical "Abused Harry story. Please rate and review and such shit:)


	2. different

Chapter two. Different

Dizclaimer: own nothing. Don't sue. I'm poor:)

The boy who found himself lying in the bed next morning, was not Harry Potter. Well, he looked the same, but inside, he had changed greatly. His whole mind and soul re-arranged during the night. His attitude towards the world changed. He was no more a frightened, shy, abused boy. No, he was firm, ambitious and ruthless. He had a plan. And he was going to carry it out…

The lock sqweaked, and Aunt Petunia stalked into the room. She looked at Harry unpleasantly, as if he was something  nasty, like a frog or worm. Her thin lips tightened.

- Get downstairs immediately, you lazy ass! You've got work to do.

With these words, she shut the door. Harry smiled.

Harry put on his glasses, sighed at the sight of their broken and twisted frame, fixed by scotch. 

"Ok, it's time for action!" He winked to his reflection, and went out of the room.

When he got down stairs, everybody was already there. Petunia was cooking bacon, and Vernon with Duddley were gobbling up a big pan with fried eggs, their faces low to the plates. They resembled pigs to Harry. And, like pigs, they grunted from delight. Harry stopped before the table, crossed his hands on his chest and with a disgusted look on his face glanced at Vernon. Venon turned away from the food,  looked up at Harry. 

- What?

- Nothing, uncle. – Harry smirked. Then he softly said.

- Accio wand.

There was a loud bang, a sound of splintering wood, when the wand with a whistling noise jumped into Harry's hand. Duddley and Vernon stared at him, gaping.

- Auntie? – Harry called in a calm, cold voice. Petunia turned away from the bacon, irritated. "What in hell does he need?"

A spell formed quickly in Harry's head. An excellent spell. He pointed the wand at Petunia, saw her eyes widen in shock. Just one short word.

- Sting!

A long, thin, spear-shaped blade came flying out of his wand. It stung her right in her right eye, penetrating the scull and splashing blood and brains on the cupboard, sink, bacon…Her body shuddered in colvunsions and she fell to the ground with a loud "thump". Duddley and Vernon just stared stupidly, the whole scene seemed unreal to them. Then Dudley, with tear-filled eyes, opened his mouth, ready to scream. "That would draw attention" thought Harry. He almost lazily purred "Stupefy", and Dudley, like a sack of potatoes slipped from the chair, making the floor tremble. Uncle Vernon found himself all alone, sitting on a chair face-to face with a crazy killer, who's bright green eyes blazed like fire. Sweat covered Dursley's broad, fat, suddenly pale face. His wife was killed. And by who? By this human punching bag, which was harmless as a fly! Just a weak little freak. But the deadly, cold stare in which the boy fixed his uncle was telling the opposite. It send shivers down Vernon's spine. And there was infinite fear of death in his little greedy eyes. How Harry savoured it! Harry strode near his uncle. His pale face was tightened and firm. He narrowed his eyes. 

- So what now, uncle? I bet you're amazed, aren't you?

- Y-you…you k-k-killed them? – Vernon's voice was wobbling with fear, his lower lip trembling.

Harry didn't even blink.

- Petunia, yesss…And the pig is only unconcious. 

- You're g-going to kill us?

Harry smiled cruely.

- And what do you expect me to do? All my fucking life I was treated like dirt for being a wizard – don't I have the right to wish you death? I remember everything, Uncle. All the pain your family caused me. Your beatings, your smiles, when I lay covered whith blood…Everything. – his voice hard as steel. 

- But-t you c-can't boy! You w-won't d-dare kill me!

- Why do you think so?

Venon didn't answer. A tear slipped down his cheek. He was going to die….

- No, I'm not going to kill you right now. I have something better in mind.

Harry walked to the unconcious Duddley who looked like a tube of Jell-O. 

- Ennervate.

Duddley's eye's fluttered open, and the first thing he saw was a very violent-looking Harry Potter. He opened his mouth to scream, but Harry's cold hand covered his mouth.

- Better not do that, or you'll join the old hag. – he hissed.

Duddley nodded, tears running down his chubby red cheeks, his yellow hair sticked to his sweaty forehead. 

- And don't you get up.

Harry turned back to his uncle and pointed the wand at him.

- Wh-hat are you…

- Imperio! – bellowed Harry.

Vernon froze, a detached and indifferent look on his face. His eyes became empty and very dull. He stood up like a robot. Harry was overcome with joy. Duddley was watching him with horror. Harry mentally ordered.

"Rape the boy! Now!"

Vernon obediently walked towards his son, who was sitting on the floor and with one quick movment pinned him to the floor.

- Not a word or  resistance, Piggy, or you'll die. I promise.

Dursley, one hand grabbing the waggling under his weight, Duddley, the other undoing his pants. Harry snickered, looking at Vernon's micro-dick. But Vernon was ready. He pulled off Duddley's jeans and boxers, revealing an enormous white butt, in which Vernon finally stuck his dick.

Duddley whined, and tried to break free, but Harry's frosty stare and Vernon's firm grip didn't let him go. So Vernon began raping his own son. Duddley screeched softly, Vernon puffed like a boar, sweat running down his emotionless frozen face. His penis was covered with blood, which oozed from Duddley's torn anus. It was a terrible, horrible scene, but Harry was watching the inhumane torture and laughing, laughing from delight, pleasure and happiness. The insane, cruel laughter echoed in Duddley's ears, causing unbearable pain, even worse, than his father's dick. His eyes were covered with a wall of tears and he didn't see Harry's darkened, deadly gaze and the cruel, evil grin on his thin and pale face. Potter was in triumph. He was having his revenge. They suffer. But it is not the end. More torture awaits them.

- Fin Imperio!

Vernon returned to himself. His eyes cleared. He looked at his penis, at Duddley's bloodstained ass and understood, what he had done. Somehow, he realized that Harry made him do this. His face turnrd red, he clenched his fists, took a glance at his weeping, crying son, put his pants on and turned to Harry.

- You motherfucker, you son of a bitch, you MONSTER! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE? I'll KILL you for this.

- No, YOU raped your own SON. I JUST made you do it. – Harry grinned, his eyes narrowing to two emerald slits.

- And it's not the end. – he whispered.

- Crucio!

With delight he watched as his uncle withered from pain at his feet. Ahhhhhh, the sweet revenge, the sight of agony….

- Crucio!

Duddley agonized, crying and screaming.

And Harry laughed. He just stood there, two agonizing, convulsing fat men at his feet, screaming from pain, pleading for mercy, and he was laughing his head off. But he was deaf to their pledges. There was no mercy or pity in his eyes. Only death…

- Avada Kadavra! Avada Kadavra! – he two times boomed the Unforgivable.

"They paid their debt. Fully. My pain is avenged". He did the right thing, he thought, looking at three lifeless bodies, lying in the kitchen. He didn't have any remorse.

Harry went upstairs and packed his things. He was going to London, there he would live until school starts.

- Morsmordere! – he yelled, casting the green scull in the house. It would deceive the aurors if they would come to his house.

With a cold smile that would rival Voldemort, he closed the front door, dragging his trunk after him. He was going to Knockturne alley. For the first time he felt so free and happy, full of energy. Because there was so much to be done…..

A\N: bad, bad Harry! What will he do next, I think? Wanna now. R\R!!!!pleeeezzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz*stands on her knees, begging* will you?


	3. of Books, Snakes and Ravens

Disclaimer. I own nothing exept situations, plot and OC's.

Chapter 3 of Books, Snakes and Ravens

Solemn, heavy grey clouds hung in the sky, blocking the sun. It was almost fall, and tiny muddy puddels appeared on the streets, the first signs of long rainy days, that awaiited the old London. "A beautiful weather", thought Harry Potter, stroding through the crooked ancient streets, laid with smoothed by millions of feet, stones. He wasn't going anywhere particular, just enjoying his long walk in the centre of London. And it stimulated his mind.

After the murder, Harry was like a narc, a zombie, programmed to do only the things he planned earlier. The blind rage, the satisfaction towards what he had done and the euphoria filled him up, leaving no place for second thoughts and logical patterns. He was happy and calm, knowing exactly what to do next. His old self practicaly vanished. He packed his stuff, after searching a bit, found Dursley's money (around 15 thousands in cash and Vernon's credit card with a bit of money still left), took Hedwig, sent off the Dark Mark to decieve aurors and left the house. After some time, a lonely bussinessman, going in town, gave a lift to a strange tall boy, who, he saw was desperatly trying to travel stop-road. 

This way, Harry finally got to London. By the time, two important things happened: Harry's mind cleared and Hedwig died. He grieved a bit, but was not in the right state to spend time on it. He simply dumped the cage with the poor starved bird in a trash can and left. Anyway, he could do nothing about it. He left his trunk in a safe on King's Cross station.

The most awful thing was, that when his mind returned to him, he realized, what he had done. He remembered everything in detail, rememberd his own delight and euphoria when commiting the murders, when watching Vernon rape his own son, remembered laughing…And what shocked him most, that he still felt, that he had done the right thing. "It was only fair for them to die. I gave myself an oath – do only what is good for you. Don't let anyone to control you, or make decisions for you. Cast away morals, rules, others people's feelings. Be egocentric. Be ruthless. Others lives don't mean anything. Only me is what means. Destroy any weakness you see, any barrier that gets in your way. Be friends with strong. Don't let weakness posses you. Nothing else matters. They died. I live. Say hello to the new me! No, not the new me – this is my real face, that was hidden by other people from me, which was replaced by The-Boy-Who-Lived, the Griffindor Hero, the savior of poor and weak. But that was not me. That's why I felt like shit, because of this distortion in my soul, because circumstances and interested people were hiding my real self from me…This summer, the Dursley's brought me back to life. By the price of their own. Dumbledore and others won't be able to control me any more…The could go fuck themselves. No longer am I their savior – no, I'll be the end of their pathetic lives. I don't need your fake smiles, don't wave to me – what do you want – some attention, a small sign? Get the fuck away from me. I know the truth. Wanna hear it? Okay, here it goes. What is good? Everything that heightens the power in a man, the will to power – power itself. What is bad? Everything, that is born of weakness. What is happinesss? The feeling that power is growing, that resistance is overcome. Not contendedness, but more power, not peace, but war; not virtue, but fitness. The weak and the failures shall perish. And what is more harmful, than any vice? Active pity for the failures and all the weak…I am strong. I don't need your hymns and appraisal. When I screw up you turn your backs on me anyway. So I fight only for myself. For power, for control…God, I am so shattered! Look, what I have become from being not myself! I have blood on my hands. And I like the feeling. But still, I'm insane. I'm torn. I hate and love myself at the same time. And the pain doesn't go away. Only when I hurt someone…..Either way, I am so alone. Always, always alone… Alon…e" Still, he really didn't understand what he thought. He was sliding in insanity, though, a very logical and cold one…

Harry was walking through the Diagon alley, talking with himself. People rushed to and fro, irritating him. He didn't like rush anymore. Few people smiled to him, because now he looked very different, even his scar bleached and was hidden under his hair. First of all, there were no more glasses. In a muggle shop he purchased himself contact lenses. Instead of old Duddley's clothes he bought a pair of black, tight leather pants and two pairs of black Levi's jeans. He was wearing a black T-shirt with an image of a scull, barring his teeth. Instead of his old torn robes he wore a long, black (again!) trenchcoat, which suited him much better than the robes, it's folds fluttering like wings of some predatory bird behind him. On his feet – heavy black motoboots, the ones that are very good for a fight. Now all his appearance conisted of fierce, opposing to everything, darkness. He got a new haircut – mostly short, only the jet-black hair near his face was longer, thin inky strands falling on his thin pale face, the brilliant toxic green eyes blazing under them. His mouth – only a thin line, always ready to curve in a smirk. He looked very sexy, tall, well built, maybe a bit too slim, but otherways, very attractive. Big eyes, nice nose. But still, he was not quite the same Potter, that left school three months ago. First, he looked older, not fifteen, but sixteen, seventeen years old. His face was now tense, grim and he always wore a somewhat sarcastic expression, which would better suit Malfoy, not him. His features became lupine, wolfish, ecspecially his slim face with sticking out sharp cheekbones. His eyes looked violently upon the world, no more softness left in them, only cold, cruel determination in two emerald stones. His body, rope-like musceles, always tightened, as if waiting for attack. And to other people, those, who hadn't known him, this dark, mysterious, cruel, rigid-looking teenager resembled a poisionous snake, coiled, always ready to strike. And it was true… A black, suffocating aura, hung around him, whilst he silently glided into the dark, unholy depths of Knocturne Alley…

Knockturn was an evil twin of Diagon alley. The same little shops, the same scurrying people. Only it was grey and gloomy, a fog covering the street like a thick blanket. The street lamps gave a dim, dispersed light, allowing to see only grey figures and contures of buildings. People moved like cloaked wraiths, unfriendly and absorbed by themselves. Harry found himself standing before a bookstore, named plainly "Books", diggining his nails deep into his newest cuts, causing deliciously sharp pain. He needed the books very much, but he hadn't got any wizards money. He was afraid, that if he tried taking the money from his acciunt in Gringotts, his *friends* would understand that he is in town, and start investigating, why it is so. It was a deaed end. Still, his wise half gave him an idea. He gripped his wand and…

Willi Graham was sweeping the endless dust from the bookshelves, when the bell rang, forestalling another potentional customer. With quite some interest he watched a teenager enter the store. He was dressed in black, his face pale and grim. Short black hair were arranged in a messy chaos and his eyes were focused the shopkeeper. For some strange reason, Graham shivered under this cold studying gaze. He came up to the stand, and quite politely for an old grumpy Squib, asked:

- Is there something you would like to buy?

The boy looked at Willi as if he just noticed him.

- Um…Well, yes.

- What? – asked Graham, squinting one eye.

- Er. Something on Dark Arts. Curses, preferrably old ones, potions, spells… - he drifted on, his voice harsh and raspy, as if he was not using it for a long time.

"He is definitly strange", thought Graham, not noticing the lightning scar on Harry's forehead. Dark Arts? Maybe he was a young Death Eater, there was a lot of them. It was possible. Yet…

- Dark Arts? Are you kidding, my boy? These books are p-r-o-h-i-b-i-t-e-d! – he emphasised the word. – we don't keep them..

Harry came closer and leaned over the stand. He didn't like this little, bald, fat, rat-like man with sly, beady eyes. He looked too much like Pettigrew. Harry looked up at the man and sneered.

- Listen. Listen to me carefully. I KNOW that you have these books, don't even try to lie. You will now go to the shelves and get what I need. – his voice quiet and calm, but there was something more in it than intonation. Graham looked at Harry, saw his darkened unmoving stare, thought, that he would better do, what he was told and hurried to the dusty shelves. "Definitely a Death Eater", he thought, pitying himself, while picking up the books in the farest corners of the store.

- - Here." Dark Curses and Hexes of Japan", by Tonoko Hiromi, "Death Plague" by Ninel Morak, "Potions and Poisions" by Selena Farhtrone and "Celtic Curse" by Ronald Starfield. The best. – he smiled, thinking, that he would get good money for this. – it'll be 304 Galleons and 45 Knuts total.

Harry raised an eyebrow.

- That expensive? But I don't have such money. – he stated.

- Well then. I'm putting them away. – he turned to leave. Then he heard Harry command:

- Stop. I have something else in return.

His voice like a razorsharp blade of ice. He turned back. Harry was leveling his wand at him. Willi gasped. Harry narrowed his eyes and smirked.

- You will give me the books without payment. Or, I will kill you in the most painful way I can think of.

Harry was not threatening him, no, just stating a mere fact. His voice alone would make the bravest men quake in great fear. It lacked all emotions and was filled with violence, pain, and most of all, death. He was not kidding. He would kill him. Graham understood that. He started nevously paking the books, afraid even to look  up at Potter. Harry was watching Graham, when he heard a strange, soft voice whisper: "These fools, again.." He turned around, but saw nothing. Only a few seconds later he understood, that the words were spoken in Parseltongue.

- Do you have any snakes?

Wide-eyed Willi, looked at Harry with utter shock. How'd he know? His hands were trembling and he could't tie a rope around the package.

- Well, yes. Right here. – he pointed to a small clay pot, right in front of Harry. He peeked in it. From it, a small eye was staring at him, non-blinking. An eye of a snake. "A snake, huh", thought Harry. Maybe it would talk to him.

"Hello, my friend…" hissed Harry. He should be polite when talking to it, as snakes are very punctual about it. He couldn't see the snakes expression, because even if the snake had it, it was hidden in the depths of the pot, but could hear the snake's amazment, when it replied.

"Hello to you, ssstranger. You can sspeak the tongue of our kind, can't you?"

"Ah, yess."

"It isss a rare giffft indeed. What do you want?"

"I assssume you're not comffortable here with thiss man.Would you like to come with me?"

Harry was straight about that. He desperately needed someone to talk with. The snake seemed to be smart and sharp-witted, a good companion.

"Thisss disssgusssting, revolting man, keeping me here…But he givesss me micssse, for nothing."

"I sssee. I would feed you too. Ssso, are you coming, or not. This is your chancsse to get in the light, even become great. My lasst offer." Harry hissed, remembering Nagini. He could feel the hesitation of the snake. On one hand, it didn't want to leave a warm, trusted place, but on the other…Mostly all Pareselmouthes were great wizards and their pets were sometimes as famous. And this boy, it felt, would be great. And feared.

"Yessss. I will come with you, ssstranger."

"Call me Masster. I will know take you ouy of your dwelling."

Graham was listening the conversation with a bewildered expession on his wrinkeled face. This boy was a Parselmouth! Maybe he was even Voldermort himself, in disguise, checking the loyality of his people. Graham grew paler and paler.

Harry grabbed the warm, dry body in the pot and extracted the snake. It was nearly a meter in length and was black, with dark-red stripes on it's back. It's belly was light grey and the snake seemed quite heavy. It had a big head with ambery-yellow eyes. The two stared at each other, forgetting about the nervous shopkeeper, who was standing with the books in his hands.

"You can twisssst yourssself around my arm" suggested Harry, pulling his sleeve up, and allowing the snake to wrap it self around the whole length of his forearm, like somehorrible braclet. He then put the sleeve down, covering the snake. He finally switched his attention to Graham, took the books from his petrified from fear hands and lowered his head.

- I suggest that you keep this in secret. If not… - he continued in a menacing tone. – I will return, and YOU would be glad, that you were never born…

- Yes, of course – to Harry's amazement, he bowed. – yes, master.

"Well, what a freak! Anyway, if he wants to call me that…I can't do anything about it". Harry sneered and stode out of the shop.

Graham was still standing and watching as the boy dissappeared in the shadows. "What a day!" he thought…

"Ssso, what kind of ssnake are you?" Harry was quietly talking to his left arm.

"Humansss name ussss bushhh vipersss, Masster."

"Ahhh, I ssee. I shhould give you a name, my friend. Now, let me think. Maybe…Acssid?"

"Acsssid, Masster? Well, I like it. A good name. Sssuitesss me". If snakes could smile, it would.

Harry was looking for bird-sellers. The books were tucked under his arm saftely, giving him a warm feeling. Suddenly, something caught his eye. Near a dirty bar, called "The Eye of the Dragon", he saw an old woman, standing near a barricade of cages. Harry took course on her.

It was a little, old lady, in a worn-out purple mantel. Her sly, pointy face was incredibly wrinkeled and resembeled a prune. She hid her hands in pockets, aware of the cold and her beady, but radiant brown eyes were lit up with merryness. She smiled at him, showing good-preserved white teeth. There was something so nice, wrm and funny about her, that Harry couldn't help and smiled too, for a second looking like his old self.

- A bird you want, don't you? – she asked.

- Yeah, right, but I'm just looking… - he mumbled, scanning the cages.

- Well, I have different ones here. You're looking for an owl, right?

- Uh-uh.

Harry bent to look closer. There were little, fluffy balls, like Ron's Pigewindon, barn owls with flat, heart-shaped, white faces, solemn eagle-owls with funny pointed ears, with big, golden eyes and carnivourous beaks. Some of the birds  sqweaked, hooted and cried, producing great noice, others sat quietly on their perches, fuffeled up. But none of the birds touched his heart.

- Sorry, ma'am, but I'm afraid I haven't fell for any of your beautiful birds. – he said saidly. He didn't want to hurt the feelings of the nice lady.

- Ahh. Well-well. Something special you need, huh? – she chuckled softly, as if they were sharing a secret. With a sly little smile, she went to the back of the barricade and took  out a big metal cage.

- Here. Nobody wants to buy him, but maybe you… - she suddenly winked at him in a most intimate manner. But Harry wasn't listening. He was staring in awe at the bird in front of him. He was lost for words.

It was a huge, midnight black raven. It's feathers glittered with silver, the big black eyes tensily watched the world. The proud statue and the intimidating look of the bird shocked Harry. It had a big, curved beak and sharp talons, he could see, and the unmoving bird seemed made out of a whole piece of obsidian. "Just perfect." Thought Harry, open-mouthed.

- How much? – he asked abruptly, forgetting that he head no money.

- Humph. Like him, don't you?

- There's no words to express how much I like him…

- Then, you can take him for free. – she smiled. – it's not that I'm so generous, though, but you two seem to be made for each other. You even look alike. – she chuckeled again.

- You're not kidding?! I can take him for nothing?!

- Yes. Anyway, as I've said, nobody wants to buy him. He's all yours.- she finished proudly.

Harry was shocked. 

- Ma'am, I can't express, how thakful I am….

- Stop-stop, my dear boy! I know…Don't thank me.

- But I s there something I co-…

- No. Just, follow your destiny, and everything will be okay.

Harry looked into her deep, strange eyes and understood that there really was nothing more to say. He nodded courteously, took the heavy cage and was gone.

"Well, I think I'll call you Fenrir, by the name of great wolf, that would devour someday the whole universe…" said Harry, addressing the words to his new post-bird…

A/N. UUUFFF! I finally finished this long long chapter:) I'm sooooo happy! If you'd just know, how hard it for a russian girl to write long chaps in english! Fuck! I want some reward for this *hint* I mean reviews…if I don't get reviews, I get sad…….next chapter – train ride. Also, about the pairings – it would definitely be H\D!!!slash forever! And I need a beta to check my awful language! All for now, see ya!  


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